


Bette Davis Eyes

by MooseFeels



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Day and Night, Dogs, Fairy Tale Elements, Magic, Mental Health Issues, but not in a "batman" sort of sense, canon-typical fatphobia, fae politiking, viktor is the night, yuri is mean what can i sAY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: Viktor's the Night, and it's boring, until it isn't anymore.Whether or not that's good depends wholly on who you ask.





	1. Chapter 1

The moon is very, very beautiful. Very silver, very still. The slight dancing of the stars, shimmering in their orbits, is very, very beautiful. The falling of frost and dew at the dawn edge of the day-- this is beautiful, too. The  _ resting _ world, sleeping and quiet, and as silver as Viktor’s hair. It’s very, very beautiful.

It’s all so beautiful that Viktor could scream. 

Things are different, from how they once were. There are not explicit temples and priesthoods to Viktor, calling him under a thousand different names and dedicating different portions of the world’s goods and property and objects to his name. Now, Night is just a time and not some sacral funciton.

It is the time that Viktor is the ruler over, almost incidentally. 

Viktor, the only one left who can talk to the stars, who can hang the moon and retrieve it back to hang on the silver chain around his neck. He thinks distantly that maybe there were more like him, once, but it seems so long ago; he can’t quite remember.

Even with the sudden advancements in night-life and  _ third shift _ and  _ twenty four hours coffee shops _ , all the world rests, at some point. Viktor, who holds night, who holds the moon, who holds dreaming, who holds sleep; Viktor is guardian over this.

It’s all so beautiful. It’s all so silver.

It’s all so  _ boring _ . 

Viktor looks out over the bridge in St. Petersburg, a night city, this one. He feels the cold wind brush his hair from his eyes and he sighs.

“Old man,” Yuri says, beside him. “Mila is going to dance tonight; throw shooting stars. Going to be all over Sweden tonight.”

Viktor shrugs. Mila dances beautifully. The showers she casts are some of the best. Viktor would know. He taught all of them how to do it. 

“You should teach me,” Yuri says. “You should teach me more.”

It’s a  _ weight _ on Viktor’s tongue that he doesn’t know how much more he could teach him. 

But instead of  _ just look beautiful, it isn’t hard, _ he says, “One day, sure. You will dance such dances, Yuri.”

This seems to placate him. 

Viktor looks up at the moon, the only companion to him he could really think understands, and he’s contemplating the precise shape of her this night when someone runs into him, full body.

Viktor turns and looks at them, to help them up but--

They look up at him with warm, brown eyes and they say something in rapid Japanese-- the only part Viktor catches is  _ I’m so sorry! _

Viktor smiles, though, and he says, in his own Japanese, “It’s no problem, are you alright?”

The stand up, and their face is rosy and flushed, “I’m fine!” They answer, in  _ English _ . “I’m fine! I’m fine! Just a little drunk. My friend--” He hiccups and sways. He looks at Viktor with his  _ warm _ eyes and says, “You should come with us! Come dancing--”   
“Viktor, please, look at this fatass, come with me to Sweden--” Yuri interrupts, but Viktor’s seen Sweden and he’s seen Mila and he’s seen Yuri but he doesn’t know who this is or--

“Your friend isn’t very nice,” the stranger says, wrinkling his nose. He flits from English to Ukranian, the language Yuri had been using. Viktor laughs, in spite of himself. “If he wants to come, he has to  _ fight me _ . In a dance fight. Dance-off.”

Viktor laughs. “Yuri, I think you’ve been challenged to a duel,” he says, over his shoulder. His hand is still braced on the strangers’ bicep. “Do you have your friend nearby?” Viktor asks. 

And a man with dark hair jogs up and says, “Oh jeez, you really had a time at the last club-- is he bothering you; Yuuri, jeez, maybe we should get you back to the hotel--”   
“No,” the man says, standing. He turns. “No, I’m  _ fine _ , Phichit, I’m fine. They’re going to come with us.”

Phichit looks from his friend-- Yuuri?-- to Viktor, and he smiles. “Sorry,” he says, in inelegant Russian. “The night-life.”

Viktor feels himself smile, more genuinely than he has in  _ years.  _ “The night-life, yes. We are visiting, too, from Odessa. Maybe, we can tag along?” He asks this in English. He plays up  _ bumbling non-local _ . Non-threatening. 

Yuuri turns to him and  _ smiles _ . “Of course you can come,” he says, in perfect Ukrainian. He turns back to Phichit, “They’re coming. You said the next one was even  _ better _ ; Phichit, let’s  _ go _ !”

Viktor smiles. Phichit sighs.

“If I didn’t know that you were dying a slow, miserable death in New York, I wouldn’t do this,” he says, sighing. He supports Yuuri, under the shoulders, and Yuuri composes himself. 

“I am  _ not _ ,” he answers. 

He turns, and looks at Viktor, and smiles, again. “I’m Katsuki Yuuri. I’m Yuuri.”

“I’m Viktor,” he answers. He slides his hand forward, and Yuuri takes, it confidently, to shake it. “My friend is Yuri. Yurio.” 

Yuuri smiles, again. 

Viktor feels something that he thought was  _ dead _ leap in his chest. 

They stumble past the bridge and down a road and then into a club-- if Viktor charms the bouncer a little, that’s between Viktor and the bouncer-- and the lights are bright and the music is so  _ loud _ and viktor is unsure what’s really happening but Yuuri throws his hands in the air and cries out with something animal and free and joyous and  _ points _ to Yuri and says, “You and me! Dance off! For Viktor’s honor!”   
“This is  _ ridiculous _ ,” Yuri grumbles, but Yuuri flits away to the dance floor and--

Viktor can’t take his eyes off of him.    
Phitchit is nearby, keeping an eye on him, and Yuri is giving his best but--

Yuuri moves like he means it. Not like he wants it to be beautiful, not like it’s supposed to be meaningful; Yuuri dances like he can’t help it, like it’s all he can do, and it shows.

Yuri dances like it’s beautiful, and it’s boring.

Yuuri dances like he’s alive.

Viktor takes a shot of something at the bar, even though it doesn’t do anything. 

And after a couple songs, Yuuri comes to Viktor and says, over the music, “Did I win?”

It’s so earnest.

Viktor doesn’t know Yuuri at all, but he finds that he  _ wants _ to. 

“Yes,” he says, and Yuuri smiles, like everything coming alive. 

Like everything waking.

“Dance with me,” he says, and Viktor can’t refuse him, and he dances like he’s never danced before. Not beautifully, but joyfully. Not silver, not starlight, but like  _ waking _ .

“Nightlife,” Viktor says, smiling with the world. 

Yuuri laughs. “I know!” He exclaims. “It’s new to me, too!”

Viktor laughs back. And they keep dancing, with the music. Yuuri’s body catches the light, catches the beat, catches Viktor. Yuuri moves Viktor hands to his hips and they bounce, they grind. He smiles, he shifts. 

But last call is announced and the music stops and the light comes on and they stumble out of the club and night is rapidly ending. Purple dawn is coming; the stars are already winking out. Viktor should get the moon. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, outside, exhaling his name with a cloud of breath. “VIktor-- come back with us. Come back with  _ me _ .”

Phichit is nowhere to be seen. 

Yuri neither.

It’s just the two of them. In the city. 

Viktor can be anybody, for just a minute, and he decides to be a lovestruck fool, because he’s been around so long, and he’s never gotten to be that, yet.

“Okay,” he says, smiling. 

He reaches up, and with all of the usual coaxing, he pulls down the moon. He clasps it to the long silver chain. 

And he looks at Yuuri, and he smiles.

He pulls off the necklace, and he carefully hangs it around Yuuri's neck. It looks good on him; homey. 

Yuuri doesn't look away from Viktor, though.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. He leans forward and he kisses Yuuri gently on the cheek.

Yuuri smiles at him again, all warm brown eyes, all waking, all joy. 

“Okay,” Yuuri answers. 

“Yuuri!” Phichit calls, just as Yuri calls Viktor’s name. 

Viktor stays just long enough to see Yuuri be found safely by Phichit, and then he steps away from St. Petersburg and leaves the world to the dominion of the Day. 


	2. Chapter 2

Yuuri wakes up at noon with a dry mouth and a necklace he’s never seen before.

He stumbles out of his bed and across the hotel room, to the toilet, and he vomits. He feels better. He takes a long sip of water, and then he vomits again and stumbles back to his bed, to fall asleep.

It’s not until the second time he wakes up that he really  _ looks _ at the necklace.

It’s a solid weight of silver. It’s heavy in his hand, and a little chilly despite the fact that he’s apparently been wearing it all night. It looks a little battered, and its edges are strangely shaped; it’s not fully round but instead a little lopsided. He can’t quite explain it, but there’s something about it.

Yuuri looks at it for a long time before he lets it go, still around his neck. 

He can’t bring himself to take it off. There’s something  _ important _ about it.

He stumbles back to the bathroom and washes his face. He brushes his teeth and he changes out of the clothes he wore last night and into the clothes he’ll wear on the flight. He’s getting dinner with Phichit and then it’s a redeye back to New York, and back to working translation. 

He sighs. Packs up his room-- there wasn’t much he brought with him; he just came for four days, on a whim. New York is  _ lonely  _ in a way Detroit never quite was. Maybe because Yuuri had Phichit; maybe because Yuuri still had the ice. 

New York eats at Yuuri, but he’d never tell anyone that. He can’t have them worrying about him. 

Yuuri lays back into the bed and moans into his hands. Sits back up and puts on his shoes.

One last day in St. Petersburg.

He closes the hotel room door and jogs down to the lobby, where Phichit is waiting. He grins when he catches sight of Yuuri. 

“How are you feeling?” Phichit asks. 

Yuuri shrugs. “How are  _ you _ ?” He asks. “I know Yakov must have been  _ brutal _ .”   
Phichit shrugs back. “I’m fine,” he says. “I didn’t drink.”

Yuuri groans, into his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m a handful--”   
“You picked up some hot stranger on the street and took him and his bitchy friend clubbing with us,” Phichit says. “Ripping off the bandaid now. That’s what you did. It was glorious.”

Yuuri feels the blood drain from his face. “I did  _ what _ ?” He asks.

* * *

 

Yuri is  _ furious _ .

“You didn’t-- the  _ moon _ , Viktor-- the  _ moon _ \-- is not some  _ lover’s trinket to be passed to whatever fat piece of ass you want to fuck!” _ He shouts. He’s red in the face and shaking, just barely. 

Viktor nods. “Yes, yes,” he says. “I know what the moon is, Yuri, I knew what the moon was before you were  _ stardust. _ I knew what the moon was before there were even  _ stars _ .”

He lets his voice go low. Almost dangerous. 

Yuri glowers, cowed just a little bit. 

Viktor might be more willing to put up with Yuri’s ranting if he hadn’t been hearing the same thing being said  _ all night _ . “I didn’t give it away on a whim,” he says, and it’s barely not a lie. “I gave it to him so I could  _ find _ him.”

“Viktor, you can’t-- what if he  _ loses _ it?” Yuri asks.

Viktor shrugs. “Never happened before,” he answers.

“Viktor, what if that pig  _ does _ though?” Yuri asks, again. 

Viktor shrugs, again. They’re in San Francisco, but they’re getting ready to head back to the nightward side of the world. 

“Then we figure it out,” Viktor says. “What could go wrong?”

Yuri kicks a trashcan. It echoes loudly in the empty street. “Viktor, you have responsibility!” He shouts.

“I know,” Viktor says. “And it’s  _ boring _ . I’ve done my job for-- forever! And I’ve never--” He sighs. 

“Yuri, you weren’t-- you didn’t  _ see _ . The way he looked at me!” 

“If you wanted worshippers again, you could have them!” Yuri exclaims. “Take on a new guise or something! Be a rockstar or an athlete or an actor!”

Viktor finds himself smiling, because Yuri, for all he understands, never understands, not really. 

“I don’t want worshippers, Yuri,” he says. “I want  _ him _ .”

Day sweeps, and Viktor carries them back over the world to St. Petersburg, where he can feel the tug of the moon. He said he was visiting; he’s glad he’s still here. That he didn’t miss him for today. 

He dashes through the city, searching, following the sensation, and then he pinpoints it, to a restaurant.

He turns to Yuri. “Do I look good?” he asks.

Yuri rolls his eyes.

Viktor shakes out his shoulders. Puts  _ bumbling out-of-towner _ back on like a second skin, like a costume, and he walks into the restaurant. 

“Why do you ask me questions you know the answer to?” Yuri asks him, falling out of California English and into Ukrainian. 

“Because I love to get a rise out of you, Yuri, you’re so  _ easy _ ,” he answers. He gestures to the hostess for a table for two, and she tugs him from the front to the back and--

Yuuri’s at a table with his friend, Phichit. 

Viktor feels his warmest, most inviting smile fall over his features, just as he hears Phichit say, “ _ Holy shit. _ ”

“What a coincidence,” Yuri says, throwing his hands in the air, ever so slightly.

“Yuuri!” Viktor exclaims, letting his English fall accented and thick. “How strange! We were just eating dinner--”   
“Yuuri, this is Viktor,” Phichit says, making pointed eye contact with his friend, who hasn’t said anything and instead has turned red right up to the roots of his hair. 

“Hello!” Viktor exclaims, as nonthreateningly as possible.

Yuuri nods. “Hi,” he says, softly, his gaze settled resolutely on the tabletop.

Viktor feels his heart sink. 

_ Did he forget? _

Phichit, though, a  _ hero _ , scoots over and says, “Join us! Yuuri’s having his last meal before he heads back--”   
“To New York, yes?” Viktor asks. 

Yuuri nods. 

“The office needs him back,” Phichit says, nudging him. “He does important work, for the UN.”   
“I do  _ not _ ,” Yuuri says, sounding scandalized. He turns back to the table. “I work as a translator for a university.”

“Ah!” Viktor says, in Ukrainian. “Is this why you know so many languages?”

Yuuri nods, shyly. “Not so many,” he says. “Just a few.”

“Is he being fake humble about how many languages he speaks?” Phichit asks. “Because it’s a lot. Don’t let him tell you it’s not a lot. He speaks Japanese, English, Russian, Thai, French, Spanish--”

“I don’t speak French,” Yuuri says, in English. “Or-- well, not modern French.”

Viktor wishes he didn’t have pretense. He hasn’t used his middle French in so long, and he feels it bucking behind his teeth, eager to be used. 

“This is still very impressive!” Viktor exclaims. “I speak some English, some Russian, some Ukrainian.” This is a lie. Viktor has never met a language he didn’t know.

“And what do you do?” Phichit asks him, as the waitress brings by a tray heavy with glasses of water. 

“He’s the  _ night _ ,” Yuri hisses beside him. Viktor elbows him in the side.

“Astronomy,” Viktor answers. 

Yuuri raises his eyebrows.

“Yurio and I, we were here for a conference,” Viktor says, in Ukrainian. “We leave soon, though.”

* * *

 

Viktor is the most beautiful man Yuuri has ever seen. 

He can’t help it; he feels his gaze drifting to him every couple seconds. He’s just--

He’s so beautiful.

He has silver hair-- not grey, not blonde but  _ silver _ . Yuuri didn’t know such a thing was even possible, but there he is. He’s tall and slender, and his motions are practiced and careful. He moves like a dancer.

He can't believe that he took this man clubbing with them, much less his friend who seems so  _angry_. He can't believe he knows him and he can't believe that this man remembers him.

Yuuri keeps alternating between looking too much and not looking enough and--

Somewhere in that time, Yuuri winds up looking Viktor straight in the eye and he can feel his heat stutter. He can feel time drop, he can feel silence between them. 

Viktor doesn’t look away, and he smiles. His eyes are cool blue and clear; Yuuri swears he can almost see through them all the way. It's like looking at a body of cool water or in a clear sky. Viktor smiles, though, and it’s a different smile than the one he’s been using all night. It’s one that makes Yuuri feel something tight and fragile in himself.

The necklace around his neck feels suddenly different, and he pulls it from under his shirt to look at it. Is it heavier than it used to be? 

Yuri’s eyes grow  _ huge _ at the sight of it, and he opens his mouth to say something, when Viktor noticeably shoves him. 

Yuuri looks at him, and says, “Is this yours?” 

Yuri looks like he’s about to answer when Viktor interjects, “I gave it to you.”

Yuuri looks at the necklace, and back to Viktor.

“I couldn’t-- I can’t--” he says.

Viktor reaches across the table, and takes his hand, gently. “I wanted you to have it. Freely given.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit says, “We should settle the bill; you have a flight to catch.”

Yuuri feels the thing between them snap. He turns to Phichit. “Right, right,” he says. “It was good seeing you again.”   
Viktor smiles, again, slipping back into that personality that feels both so natural and so fake. Yuuri can’t quite put a pin on it, but it’s like a costume almost. A defense. 

“It was so good seeing you,” he says. “Yuuri, please be in touch.”

Yuuri nods, and he and Phichit go to the register by the door to pay for their food and Phichit gives him a hug before he gets in the cab to head back to his airport-adjacent hotel to gather his bags. 

And Yuuri’s on the plane, when he realizes, simultaneously, that necklace reminds him of the moon, and that Viktor had a conversation with him in Japanese.


	3. Chapter 3

Yuuri touches the ground in New York twenty seven hours later, and he’s so tired, he can’t quite get his eyes to work. He’s spent the week with cyrillic and his time on the phone and on his computer is usually in Japanese, and this, combined with the sleep deprivation, so fully affects him that his encounter with English gives him a wretched headache. He manages the train though, and he drops his luggage in his room and shuffles out of his shoes and out of his clothes and settles into his bathroom, to shower. 

He’s heating up the water and brushing his teeth and he looks at himself in the mirror and there’s the necklace, again. Around his neck. 

Yuuri frowns, looking at it, and looks at it in his hand. 

_ I gave it to you.  _

Yuuri lets it falls back around his neck and he climbs into the shower. He washes his hair and his face and he sighs, feeling the miles of travel drop off of him. He lets the sound of Phichit’s voice leave his ears and the soreness of dancing on the town and flying flee his muscles. He closes his eyes.

_ Freely given _ .

He wishes, a little, that he had gotten Viktor’s phone number or email or  _ something _ . 

But now, he’ll never see him again, and he’ll keep working in New York and nothing will really change.

_ Nope,  _ he thinks.  _ Not right now. Not a good time for this. _

He gives a shaky exhale, trying to divert the building panic in his chest.

He climbs out of the shower and dries off. Slips on a pair of underwear and settles into bed. Pulls a blanket over his shoulders and sets an alarm. It’s early afternoon-- about two or three-- and he’s going to be jetlagged but he’s so tired right now, he’ll probably sleep through the night just fine. 

He lets his eyes drift closed, and his bedroom is pleasantly dark for him.

* * *

 

Viktor counts the hours. 

Traveling puts Yuuri in such a weird space, between night and day because of how airplanes manipulate space and time. It might be more than a whole  _ day _ before Yuuri makes it to the restful world; before Viktor can find him, before he can  _ be _ with him. 

“He wasn’t even that charming at dinner,” Yuri moans, beside him. They’re in a park, and it’s warm here, the air full and thick. They’re out of the winter coats of Russia and in shirtsleeves and sandals. 

Viktor looks up the tree Yuri has climbed, where he lounges on a branch. 

“He was  _ very _ charming at dinner,” Viktor counters. And he was-- different from how he was at the club but so earnest and warm. Everything about Yuuri is warm, Viktor’s realized. His eyes, his smile, his voice. “He was very kind to make room for us even though he didn’t remember, and you didn’t even have to worry about him losing the moon! She was right there; safe with Yuuri.”

Viktor looks up, at the moon, and he imagines that nestled as she is so close to Yuuri’s heart, she must be warm enough to blush. Maybe it’s just him, but she looks warmer. Closer. More inviting. 

Oh, how Viktor envies the moon, who lays so near to Yuuri.

“He doesn’t even  _ know _ ,” Yuri shouts, clamboring out of the tree. He jogs up to Viktor and throws his hands in the air. “You gave that  _ idiot _ the moon and he didn’t even recognize her! He’s thick! He’s like all of the rest of them--”

“Warm?” Viktor asks. “Brilliant? Funny?”   
“ _ Thick _ ,” Yuri spits. 

“I think you’re being uncharitable,” Viktor says.

“What does it matter-- I’m a  _ star _ ,” Yuri says. “I’m older than all their cities, all their temples, all their art, all their dance. I lived through their roman empires and I’ll live through their American ones, too. All this fat pig is going to do it cause  _ trouble _ and make a  _ mess _ .”

Viktor feels himself smile, almost to himself. He walks past a couple on the long end of a date; it must be going well. They look up at the moon and comment to each other in Hindi how beautiful it is.  _ Thiruvananthapuram _ , Viktor realizes. This is where they are. In a few hours, it will be dusk in New York and it will enter night and Viktor will be able to travel there freely. 

“Yuri,” Viktor says, turning around to his companion. “Don’t you think it was time we had a little trouble?” 

“No!” Yuri cries. 

Viktor shrugs. “Come on. I’ll buy you a samosa,” he says.

Viktor counts the hours.

* * *

 

It’s like Yuuri isn’t by himself. 

He falls asleep but he wakes up a few minutes later by the sensation of a weight of something else on the bed. He kicks a few times but doesn’t feel anything, so he chalks it up to anxiety. 

But it doesn’t stop. Every time he falls asleep, there’s that sensation that he can’t quite get rid of, and it’s driving him crazy. He can’t  _ see _ anything, just his bedroom, dark with the curtains pulled shut.

He opens them, and looks around, and doesn’t see anything. 

He falls asleep with the curtains open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey uhhhhhhh where's vicchan ya'll.


	4. Chapter 4

Night falls in New York, and Viktor follows it. 

Viktor travels at the speed of dusk, letting dew and frost fall in his footsteps, stars alighting in his wake. The moon, faithful, follows him.

New York does not rest, but from the tug Viktor feels, Yuuri does. 

The building has a fire escape, leading right up to Yuuri’s apartment. It looks into his window, the curtains open. 

The bright moon follows Viktor, and lights into Yuuri’s bedroom, where he lays tangled in the blankets, brow creased with dreaming. 

It takes nothing to open the window; even less to slip noiselessly into Yuuri’s bedroom, where Viktor thickens the darkness to hide himself a little more. Viktor can be invisible, unhearable, undetectable, if he wants to be. Tonight, he thinks he wants to be.

He makes no sound as he eases into the room and sits on the floor across from Yuuri’s bed. To gaze at him. 

Viktor half wants to rouse him from his slumber, to take him dancing, to teach him to cast shooting stars and hang the moon himself. To see him smile and laugh. 

Vivid Yuuri.

But he doesn’t. He lets Yuuri sleep. He must be exhausted after traveling; the way planes manipulate time and hold people beyond the realm of waking and resting is so curious. Viktor can’t imagine it’s healthy. 

But Yuuri is back, here, safe;  Viktor and the moon watch him all through the night. When the time passes, Viktor collects himself from the floor and straightens the lapels of his coat-- cold winter, here in New York.

He wants to leave him with something-- a kiss, or a token of himself-- but he doesn’t. Yuuri would know, and something curdles in Viktor’s gut to think that Yuuri might think his intentions impure. Viktor wants to court Yuuri, and he knows, distantly, that maybe the rules are different than they were when things like this happened more often, or even at all.

Soon, it will be day and Viktor will not be able to slip away so easily. He has responsibilities. Things to do. Night to cast. Even if he is shirking them terribly to be here, he cannot brush away from them all the time.

So he slips out, and he waits for tomorrow.

* * *

 

Yuuri wakes up and brushes his teeth and hair and slips into clean clothes. He takes the train to the office and opens the door and there’s a stack of papers waist high waiting for him and about a dozen emails.

Yuuri translates-- he works with texts professors are looking to deal with, but he also translates their own works into more manageable languages. He found his knack for languages when he was a skater, trading barbs and conversations with his rinkmates and competitors easily. Russian was an easy major for him to take in college, and after Russian came Ukranian and he already had such a good grasp of Thai and then he was in a master’s program for--

So suffice to say, Dr. Yuuri Katsuki is  _ busy _ , and the business doesn’t quite fill the emptiness that leaving the ice gave him, but it’s cheaper than chronic knee and hip pain, and his mom worries about him less than she used to.  Yuuri is busy; too busy by far for dates and too busy to try to hunt down some man he met in St. Petersburg, a random acquaintance, less than a fling, even. 

Yuuri sighs as he settles down into his office chair and opens the document, forming a to-do list. 

Yuuri works well into the day and the afternoon, and soon it is evening and he closes his eyes and he sighs. 

It’s dark, suddenly, and he’s tired.

He stands and stretches, rolling his neck. He steps out of the office and heads to the bathroom, to wash his face. He’s not done yet, even if it’s--

It’s  _ three pm.  _

He looks around the office, and even though the window blinds are drawn up and it’s bright outside, it’s dim in his office. 

He sticks his head in the hallway.

It’s bright.

In the office though, he has on his lamp and it’s cozy and warm; inviting darkness, like the kind just before heading to bed. 

It’s  _ uncanny _ .

Yuuri shakes his head.

Jetlag. 

It’s gotta be jetlag.

He washes his face and heads back into his office, where it’s still  _ weird _ . It’s weird, for lack of a better term.

He opens his phone.

_ Minami _ , he sends, to his assistant.  _ Can you help me with something? _

Not thirty seconds later does he hear rushed footsteps and a knock on his door.

“Come in,” Yuuri calls, looking around.

Minami steps in, all panting breath and boundless enthusiasm. Minami’s a good kid, if exhausting. He remembers Yuuri’s skating career, which makes him unusual. He’s also Japanese, which makes him  _ triply _ unusual at the  University. 

“Minami,” Yuuri asks, looking around. “Is it...does it seem odd?”

Minami looks around. “It just seems...cozy? Did you paint? I like the color!”

Yuuri sighs. “No,” he says. “Does it seem...does it seem dark?”

Minami considers. He steps fully in and cocks his head. “Not in a bad way, Dr. Katsuki,” he says. Despite Yuuri’s best efforts, he still calls him Dr. Katsuki. “Just...cozy. Like a hug.”

Yuuri sighs. Minami’s not wrong, but it’s like he’s not seeing it. 

“How was St. Petersburg?” Minami asks, brightly. “Did you have a nice time?”

Yuuri smiles. “I had a lovely time,” he answers. “Thank you. How was campus?”

Minami shrugs. “I went to a dance,” he says. “I missed skating practice though-- you should come, to my next one! We’d all love--”   
Yuuri feels his smile go tight. “Thank you, Minami,” he says.

Minami nods. “Sure!” He chirps. “If you need anything, let me know! I’m just working on paperwork while Leo is tutoring.”

Yuuri nods, and Minami leaves, flits out the door.

Yuuri shakes his head. He must need more rest than he thought. 

He grabs a couple documents and shoves them in his bag with his laptop and steps out. He can keep working at home. 

He takes the train. Heads into his building and flicks the lights on. Pours himself a cup of tea and settles down, on the couch, and he feels it, then, again.

That sensation, of something settling down beside him.

He looks over, on the couch, and there’s a shape, indistinct but  _ present _ , of darkness, warm but weighted.

Yuuri looks at it, overwhelmed-- quizzical, for a long moment, before the shape eases over to him, a little closer.

Yuuri reaches out, and touches it, gently.

It’s velvet soft, in a strange, tingling sort of way. Very warm. 

_ Cozy _ .

Yuuri pets it, and it stretches a little, over his feet.

Yuuri takes a deep breath, and after a long moment, he skulks off to his bathroom to panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> viktor stalking isn't how u get pretty boys to kiss u


	5. Chapter 5

Yuuri can’t stop shaking. 

He’s sitting on the cold tile floor, gripping his knees to his chest. He’s had panic and anxiety attacks before, and he’s been so wrapped up in the depths of depression that he’s hurt himself but he’s never--

Hallucinations, like this, have never been an issue for him before, and he doesn’t know what to  _ do _ . What this means or who to talk to or which doctor to contact. This isn’t in any of his side effects or drug interactions-- he would  _ know _ , he’s looked it up, because he doesn’t do  _ anything _ without having all the facts. It’s either a hallucination, and the enormous basket of mental health issues Yuuri lives with just got bigger (and more complicated), or--

Or it’s real.

Yuuri’s sitting on his bathroom floor, shaking, when he hears a low  _ thump _ and a kind of  _ whine _ at the door. A scratching sound, like claws against the wood. Yuuri feels his brow crease. Another whine, pleading.

Yuuri looks at the door for a long time.

He looked this all up once, a long time ago, when they were first figuring out the right series of things to do to help him with the things his brain does. Auditory and visual hallucinations-- well documented, common. Most people encounter them a few times; some people live with them all the time. Tactile hallucinations happen, too. All of these things-- there’s nothing to say that this isn’t real. There’s nothing to say that this isn’t real.

There’s the whine again, though. 

It’s either a very polite hallucination, or it’s very polite and it’s real.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at the lock screen for a long time. It’s a picture of home-- of Hasetsu. He grits his teeth. Mari would tell him to go to a doctor and his parents would just worry and Phichit would call a doctor  _ for _ him and Minami wouldn’t understand. Other than work colleagues and the pizza place he calls sometimes, that about exhausts the list of people he could talk to. And what would he even  _ say _ ?

_ Hi, it’s just me, and I think maybe I’m hallucinating but maybe I’m not? Can you fly hear all the way from Japan or Russia or bike across town to tell me? Can you see this? No it’s not hurting me. No, I’m not hurting. No, this isn’t like Detroit.  _ He can feel the conversation slipping out of his fingers already. He can feel the engine shuddering sound of the MRI machine, too. The uncomfortable  _ months  _ (if he’s  _ lucky _ ) of adjusting his medication again. 

Yuuri opens the door, after a long moment.

The darkness seems more fully formed. It stands about hip-high to Yuuri.

Doglike, somehow. 

The darkness whines again, and walks softly into the bathroom and settles down beside Yuuri again. It whines, again. 

Yuuri pets it, gently. 

It’s either a very friendly, very polite hallucination, or it’s real. And it doesn’t want to  _ hurt _ him and it doesn’t make him feel worse. 

Usually, when his brain does the things it does, it makes him feel worse. It hurts him. 

This doesn’t want to hurt him; it just seems to want to be next to him. 

Yuuri is more and more sure that it’s  _ real _ . And if it’s not, it’s just some new trick his brain does. When he’s jetlagged, he gets a dog made out of darkness that lays on his feet and begs him to pet it. Nothing to call home about and nothing to scan his brain for and nothing to put him through an MRI for. 

“Who are you?” Yuuri asks, softly, in Japanese. It’s his hallucination, he’ll address it in his native tongue as he sees fit. If it’s a hallucination, it probably  _ speaks _ Japanese.  

Another whine, some rearranging. Belly-up.

Yuuri scratches its belly. It barks, softly. Happily. Doesn’t speak at all.

Yuuri looks at it for a long moment, before he says, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

* * *

 

Viktor watches Mila cast stars in the forest. She likes northern Europe, she likes the weather. Mila winters, unlike Georgi, who summers year-round. They switch hemispheres, but their duties remain the same. Mila casts stars and showers of shooting stars; Georgi hangs constellations and omens. They’re both graceful and bright and elegant. 

“Yuri tells me,” Mila comments, looking out over her work, “that you gave the moon to a man.”   
Her statement is a question, one Viktor is left to interpret. He knows this game. He taught it to all of them.

“Yes,” Viktor answers. He doesn’t have energy to play tonight. “His name is Yuuri. He’s keeping her safe for me.”

Mila looks at him, her eyes flashing. “I wasn’t expecting this,” she says. “What’s your goal?”   
Viktor shrugs. “To woo him,” he replies.

Mila laughs. The stars, over the dense  wood, twinkle brightly in response. “With the moon? Does he know what it is?”   
Viktor shrugs. “I’ll tell him,” he says. 

Mila turns a little serious. “What if he believes you?” She asks, almost whispering.

Viktor whistles. The tone goes clear into the darkness. “I can only hope he does,” he says. 

Mila spirits away suddenly. There are lots of stars to hang and not much time to do it in. She takes her job very seriously; she has since she plucked the morning star from the tempestuous heavens and taught it to truly soar. She takes the artistry, the beauty, of the stars seriously, even if she herself is playful, is sparkling, is bright. 

Viktor admires her work. 

It will be dawn here soon enough. It is early night now, in New York.

Viktor carries himself over the ocean, toward Yuuri.

* * *

 

Yuuri doesn’t own a leash, but he figures if the dog is a hallucination, it doesn’t matter. If the dog is real, someone will ticket him, and he’ll have the relief of  _ confirmation _ to soften the blow. The dog-- it needs a  _ name _ \-- trots after him, staying near to him, brushing against his fingers. It doesn’t cast a shadow, but it is hard to look at. Not hard to see, exactly, but hard to perceive in the uneven brown glow of city light. 

Yuuri heads to the park. Dogs like parks.

He tugs his coat a little more closely around himself, against the January chill, and he’s overwhelmed by the familiar sensation of running into someone and having them steady him before he falls, of looking up, and it being--

“Viktor?” Yuuri asks.

The same blue eyes. Same strange smile, same tall body and strangely colored-hair. 

“Yuuri,” he greets back, smiling a little more broadly. “I found you.”

“You know Japanese,” Yuuri says back, finding his feet. He untangles his legs from the eager looping of his maybe-hallucination, maybe-dog. 

Viktor shrugs. “Maybe I was not forthcoming with you about some things,” he says, in response.

“So are you actually an astronomer?” Yuuri asks, frowning. “Or was that a lie, like your Ukrainian tourist act?”

Viktor shrugs. “I work with the heavens,” he answers. “It’s much like astronomy, but a little harder to explain.”

“What are you doing in New York?” Yuuri asks.

“I wanted to see you,” he answers. “You made quite an impression.”

Yuuri feels himself blush. He hopes it isn’t too visible. “That never happens,” he says. “Ever. It was a fluke.”

Viktor shrugs again. “I don’t mind if I never see such a thing again. I want to know  _ you _ , however you’d like to show yourself. Could we get something to eat? I’m partial to street food. Diners. Anything open all night.”

“No vodka?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor smiles, bright as the stars. “No vodka,” he answers.

Yuuri looks down, at the maybe-hallucination, maybe-dog.

“Can my...can my dog come?” He asks, nervously.


	6. Chapter 6

Viktor looks at Yuuri, cocks his head in confusion and then--

Viktor laughs, looking at it, bending low. It greets him, like an old friend, knocking him off his feet enthusiastically. It greets him like an old friend because in its way it is an old friend. It’s a part of him.

“Yuuri,” he laughs, finally standing back up, “I had no idea! A _nighthound!_ It’s been years!”

Yuuri looks at him with his brown eyes wide and anxious. “So you see it too?” He asks.

“See it?” Viktor asks. “Years ago I _made_ her. Her name is lost, though, but--”  
“You _made_ it?” Yuuri asks, and Viktor turns from looking at the nighthound to looking back at Yuuri who looks caught in a space between terrible anxiety and absolute anger.

Viktor smiles at him, because what else is there for him to do, but smile.

“I told you,” he says. “I work with the heavens, but it’s a little harder to explain.”

Yuuri’s brows dart downward, drastically. “ _Start_ ,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that Viktor cannot describe, something terrible and weighty. Now is not a time for arguments.

Viktor nods. He gestures, to the darkness around him.

“Night,” he says. “I’m-- I am and have dominion over the Night and all Night-Places. I am the Creator of the Stars and the Guardian of the Moon. Where I tread, nightfall follows.”

Yuuri looks around wildly. Frustrated. “You’re a _crazy_ person,” Yuuri cries out.

Viktor reaches up and out, gathers a few stars into his palm and brings them down, gathering them into a diadem halo, to settle onto his brow. “I’m not,” he says. “I assure you. I’ve been many things but I am, presently, sane.”

To see Viktor in his regalia, the nighthound barks happily. Circles around Viktor’s legs and then heads back over to Yuuri.

“You’re not the _night_ !” Yuuri exclaims. “You’re not-- that isn’t _possible_ . The night happens because the Earth rotates and--”  
“It does, it does, yes,” Viktor says. “But also, no. Not at all.”

Viktor pulls down stars for Yuuri now. Brighter stars, the brightest ones that he can find here. He spins them together, stringing moonlight between them into long thin arcs. A better halo, a brighter halo. Something to glimmer, to shine.

Yuuri looks at it, with his brow furrowed. He frowns at it. “Are those...are those stars?”

Viktor smiles. “Minor ones. They wouldn’t be missed and they don’t even talk.”

“Talk?” Yuuri asks, incredulous. He doesn’t reach to take the halo, so Viktor pushes it through space to hang surrounding his head, to light him in the silver tones of night.

“You remember, Yuri? In St. Petersburg,” he says. “He’s the Morning Star. And there’s Georgi and Mila, they’re stars, too.”

“That’s not-- that’s-- the stars are--” Yuuri says.

“They are, and they aren’t,” Viktor answers. “I know this is...strange. This must be strange for you. But Yuuri, this is true. I am the Night.”

“Is there a Day?” Yuuri asks.

“Of course,” Viktor replies. “But we don’t get along. He tends to be a...he is very full of himself.”

“That’s not….that’s not possible,” Yuuri says, laughing. His voice is hysteric, his body curiously still.

“It is true,” Viktor says. “Would you like--” He rolls his wrist, looks at his watch, “Hmm. Would you like to come to Finland with me?”

Yuuri’s eyes seem to grow larger. Overwhelmed. “When? Why?”

Viktor smiles at him. “Now. To see.” He extends his hand out, toward Yuuri. “Please, may I show you?”

Yuuri’s eyes flick from the nighthound to Viktor’s hand, and back.

“Can she come?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor smiles. “I don’t think she would let us go without her,” Viktor says.

 _She_ , he thinks. Yuuri is attached.

Yuuri looks around the dark street. No one is paying attention to him. No one sees him, no one looks at them.

This is why Viktor loves cities. The anonymous crush of people. Unseen.

Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand.

* * *

 

There’s a rushing feeling. It’s like jumping into water, but different. A pulling, a rushing, a sudden feeling of moving.

And then it stops and--

Yuuri looks up, and in a swimming sort of feeling, he sees a different sky.

Pitch black. Strewn with stars.

Yuuri looks back down and Viktor--

Viktor wears a crown of silver stars. They scatter light over his skin, twinkling and uneven and strange.

Does his silver hair glow? Do his eyes shine?

Viktor’s smile is unbelievably gentle and warm and almost lonely.

Yuuri looks at Viktor, and he looks back up at the sky, and then he looks around and--

“Where are we?” Yuuri asks.

“Finland,” Viktor answers. “Mila likes to dance here. It’s a good theatre. We can throw steady, true darkness out here.”

Yuuri turns, to look at him. “It’s...it’s Finland,” he says.

The dog bounds up to him, from Viktor. She’s wearing a collar of stars around her neck. Yuuri pets her, and he notices that he can see his hand in that same, curious light that Viktor casts. From the corner of his eye, Yuuri sees--

He reaches to the side of himself and he pulls a star from space.

It feels like everything. It feels like nothing. It feels hot, it feels cold. It feels solid and totally intangible. Yuuri lets go of it, and it drifts in space before settling back into orbit around him.

“You’re the _night_ ,” Yuuri says. “You’re-- you’re the _night_.”

VIktor smiles, again. “I am,” he says.

“What...what are you doing here?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor’s features hesitate, for a moment, before he says, “Yuuri, you’re so interesting. You’re so-- you’re so lively and bright. You’re so _you_. I’m here because...ah, Yuuri. Yuuri, I want to-- Yuuri, may i court you?”

Yuuri feels that rushing again, suddenly, but he realizes it’s inside himself and not around himself.

“What?” He asks.

* * *

There is an action to Yuuri’s skin. It’s not just that he blushes, it’s like every part of him draws back before reaching out. It’s not just the way his round cheeks go pink or the way his eyes go wide; it’s something about his hair, about his shoulders, about his mouth and his breath. A step back before a bounding forward, something all too beautiful and alive for Viktor to bear. He looks at Viktor like a heartbeat. 

Viktor could watch Yuuri forever; ignore the spinning and rotation of the stars and just watch Yuuri.

“What?” Yuuri asks, and something about the question and the way his voice breaks when he asks it hurts Viktor, deep inside. Yuuri’s voice cracks around it, like sounding disbelieving but for reasons Viktor knows are less about him and more about other people. 

“Yuuri, “ Viktor says. “I want to court you. Take you to dinner at the greatest restaurants in the world. Take you drinking in the best bars. Take you dancing at every club and ballroom. Take you  _ everywhere _ the moonlight touches and then tuck you into bed when you are ready to rest.”

And Viktor means it. He stands in the Finnish darkness and he looks at Yuuri, gently lit by the soft, settled glow of the stars. 

Viktor wants to show Yuuri everywhere and everything. It’s like everything is  _ new _ again. Everything is  _ exciting _ again. 

Yuuri looks at him with a strange, sad sort of look in his eye. Like he is  _ waiting _ for something. 

“I don’t...I’m not sure I’m  _ worth _ all that,” Yuuri says, his voice small. 

Viktor frowns. 

“Yuuri, you are worth those things and more,” he says. “And I would like to give them to you.”

Yuuri swallows. Viktor can see the bob of his adam’s apple in his throat. “How would--how would this work?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor smiles. “Wherever I go, there is where night is. We determined, though, how long and where the day and night are at any given time. I can see you an hour after the sun goes down to an hour before it comes back up. Every day, anywhere.”

“What about Antarctica?” Yuuri asks. “Or the Arctic circle?”

“In winter time, when the sun goes down, we have reign,” Viktor says. “In summer, when the sun comes up, Day does.”   
Yuuri looks around, in the true darkness. There’s a grove here, of high trees. They stretch up and up, giving the darkness a kind of tactile velvetiness. Yuuri’s pupils are dilated wide. His breath falls from his mouth in low, icy clouds. 

It takes nothing to draw his fingers into the air and to pull a sheet of darkness from the night, flowing like ink and soft as fox-fur. He pulls it around and drapes it gently over Yuuri’s shoulders. 

Yuuri looks at it, baffled. 

“How old are you?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor shrugs. “When people looked out into the absence of daylight and believed, thence was I formed.”

“I’m twenty-seven,” Yuuri replies. 

Viktor smiles. 

“This is  _ Finland _ ?” Yuuri asks. 

Viktor nods. “One of our favorite groves. All of the temples we had in history were either destroyed or have become too observed by cameras and lights.”

Yuuri pulls his lip into his mouth, gnawing on it. He looks back at Viktor. “What if we just spent some time in New York?” Yuuri says. “Just for a little while, at first?”

Viktor nods. “Yuuri, of course!” He says. “Whatever you’d like.”

The nighthound walks a circle around Yuuri before sitting down just to the right of him. Yuuri tangles his fingers into the dense shadow that constitutes her fur. 

“Can you take me home?” Yuuri asks. “To my building?”   
Viktor nods. And Finland slips from them and Viktor pulls them through the night to place Yuuri gently on his stoop. 

Yuuri stands there, a little dizzy, and looks at the building. He looks at his watch. “It’s so late?” Yuuri asks. “It’s so early.”

Viktor nods. “It takes time, to travel and to be. It passes slowly. It passes quickly.”

Yuuri blinks tiredly. “Should you go soon?” He asks. 

Viktor nods. “I should. Can I see you? Tomorrow?”

Yuuri looks at him, still in the finery from the forest, the night composing the coat steadily bleeding away into the early morning greyness that is beginning to slip in. Stars weaker but still glowing. He nods. “Meet me here?” He asks. 

Viktor nods. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he says. 

Yuuri yawns. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so tired.”

“Go rest,” Viktor says. “I’ll see you soon.”   
Yuuri nods. “Come on girl,” Yuuri says, and the nighthound barks quietly before following Yuuri loyally inside. Viktor watches them go. 

Viktor lets Yuuri’s door shut, and instead of waiting for dawn and to be removed from territory that doesn’t belong to him, he lets himself flee to the other side of the night. Ready. Excited. 

Nervous.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> may want to read the end of the last chapter: some stuff got added in a sudden edit

Yuuri walks up the stairs and into his apartment. He opens the door and sits down on the couch. The cloak has disappeared and the  _ stars _ have, too. But the cold, steady weight of the necklace is still resting on his collarbones and the dog sits beside him on the couch. The dog sighs heavily, tiredly. 

“Me too, girl,” Yuuri murmurs, reaching over to pet her. 

Yuuri’s phone buzzes in his pocket. 

Yuuri groans, before fishing it out and looking at it. Sixteen texts, all from Phichit.

Yuuri places his phone facedown on the couch and sighs, again. 

He gets up and grabs his laptop. Settles on his bed and opens and email.  _ Minami- working from home today.  _ He scrubs a hand over his face and shuffles to the bathroom to take a quick shower. He stands under the spray until the hot water quits, and then he shuffles back to his bedroom. 

_ Okay! _ Minami has replied. Yuuri’s not sure he sleeps.  _ Feel better! _

Yuuri runs his hands through his wet hair, letting the cool, wet feeling ground him. 

He looks at the medallion, the necklace Viktor gave him, sitting where Yuuri left it on his nightstand. 

He picks it up and looks at it. 

_ Freely given,  _ he remembers Viktor saying, in the cafe, over a plate of varenyky. 

Yuuri looks at it, and feels that overwhelmed, too much, too everything feeling sweep up to him like a tide. 

Yuuri crams the feeling down and shoves the necklace into his nightstand drawer and tries not to think about it. 

The dog pads into his room and climbs into bed with him, bringing with her that kind of cozy, warm feeling. A soft, welcoming darkness. Yuuri yawns. She curls up close to his side, strangely but not unpleasantly cool. 

“You need a name, hm, girl?” Yuuri murmurs, softly. “Do you have one already?”

She doesn’t answer.

Yuuri yawns. 

He falls asleep. 

* * *

Yuri isn’t just mad, he’s vibrating. Furious. Overcome with it. Viktor runs into him in Singapore, among the clangor and clamor of slot machines and poker tables. The casino is huge, loud and open and observed. It’s fun, every once in a while, to see this part of the nightlife. The artificial splendor, the glass and steel. The overloud clamor of machines and voices, the cacaophy of lights and color. It’s distinct, the way all these places are. It’s flat and mass-produced, the way all these places are.

“You  _ told _ him,” Yuri hisses, following Viktor through the casino floor. Viktor gazes idly over the gamblers, the melody of languages flowing in broken rhythm. “You  _ told _ him; you were supposed to  _ dump  _ him, not  _ tell _ him, you balding idiot!”

Viktor turns, to look at Yuri. 

Yuri looks at him for a moment, slightly struck and nervous. 

“I’m not  _ balding _ ,” Viktor says, resisting a primal urge to burst into tears.

Yuri doesn’t roll his eyes, not quite. But he does look upward, to the heavens he helps to run, and lets go a deep breath. 

Viktor turns and wanders on, dragging Yuuri from the casino floor to the aquarium. 

Viktor wonders what it’s like to see the ocean lit by sunlight. He wouldn’t know. 

He watches the drift of the fish through the artificially lit water. Their colors. Their shapes. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Yuri says. “You know  _ he’s _ going to be a shit about this.”

“Who?” Viktor asks, only halfway listening. 

“ _ Him _ . You know. The king,” Yuri answers.

Viktor snorts. “Right. Him. I think he’s probably too busy with his civilian identity to care.”

“That’s fucking optimistic,” Yuri spits back. “He’s probably too busy with  _ himself _ . But when he finds out, it’ll fucking suck.”

“It’ll be fine,” Viktor says. “It always is.” 

“Did you see the thing? The speech at his fucking annual ego convention?” Yuri spits, like a wet cat. “His powergrab is so  _ fucking _ transparent.”

Viktor sighs. “Maybe I don’t want my domain anymore, Yuri. I’m so  _ bored _ .”

“You’re bored?” Yuri replies, his voice shocked. Loud. “You have a  _ duty! _ ” he roars back, voice shatteringly loud in the aquarium. 

Everyone turns to look at him. Viktor can’t.

Yuri glares at him. Storms off. Viktor knows he storms off to far elsewhere, leaving the metropolis behind. Somewhere dark and far, where he can sulk. Viktor lets him. 

Viktor can’t wait for it to be night in New York again. To see Yuuri again. 

He watches the aquarium, for a few moments more, before he goes somewhere else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally endless thanks to my very dear friend @mildsweet, who has left an indelible positive mark on so much of my creative work and this one especially. god bless them. pay them to be your beta. 
> 
> i'm on the twitter now! @moosefeels; come talk to me


	8. Chapter 8

Yuuri sits in his living room and ostensibly works.

He has his computer open and a couple of books out. He has the work teriminal set up too, looking over the information. He's poured himself a cup of coffee. He's working. Technically. Kind of. Barely.

The thing is, Yuuri loves the work he does for the university. He loves working with the texts and he loves helping faculty develop curriculum; he loves his student workers; he loves pulling a text together for a professor from whichever department. Yuuri loves the work he does for the university, and it generally keeps a roof over his head.

Or, rather, it keeps a roof over his head but it doesn't pay for the lights. Or maybe the water. Or his student loans or groceries or going to the doctor. It covers a pretty good portion of his expenses but it covers just that-- a portion.

Yuuri got the email from SunKing a few months ago-- something about them developing a translation software and needing people who actually understand how language works instead of code. He can work from home and the pay is pretty good and it's easy enough that it's not stressful, just sort of dull. And besides, working for SunKing looks _good_ on his CV.

Yuuri sits on his couch, in his living room, biting his nails. The nighthound lays beside him; a constant, warm presence along his leg. The light is cozy-- not just because of the shadows that seem to follow Yuuri around but because the sun has gone down. Evening is starting, night following close behind.

Yuuri sits in his living room and watches the lengthening shadows and jiggles his leg and works (or pretends to work) until he hears a knock on his door.

Yuuri stands up and opens his door and Viktor stands there.

Yuuri's never really ready for Viktor to be there. Before he knew what he knows now, there was still something about him. Something about how his silvery hair falls into his eyes-- something about his eyes. Maybe, though, it is the hang to his shoulders or the way his long-fingered hands dance when he talks. Maybe it is how his smile slides across his mouth, slowly but like it is the most natural thing in the world-- like the creeping of fog in the morning twilight. Something about how beautiful Viktor is, and he leans against Yuuri's doorjamb and just _stands_ there. Yuuri's never really ready for Viktor, but he's certainly not ready for him to just _stand_ there.

"Good evening," Viktor says. "Are you ready?"

"Hi," Yuuri answers. "Let me uh-- let me put my shoes on; give me a second."

Yuuri pulls on his sneakers and a jacket. He locks his apartment, turning to Viktor and saying, "Can we stay in the city, tonight? This is still-- this is kind of crazy, still."

"Of course!" he answers. "I had planned to anyway."

The clatter down the stairs, to the door outside. Viktor steps fast enough down the stoop that when he stands at the bottom, he stands with his hand extended forward to Yuuri. Offering toward him, to bring him into the world.

Yuuri feels his cheeks heat as he takes Viktor's bare hand inhis own. The feeling deepens when Viktor holds onto his hand as they walk down the sidewalk, smiling.

"Can I ask what you have planned?" Yuuri asks.

Viktor grins when he turns and looks at Yuuri. "Have you ever been to the museums at night?" He asks.

"What about the security?" Yuuri blurts, immediately. "There have to be guards or cameras or--"

"Do you think there is a camera that exists that can see me if I would not like it to?" Viktor asks, seriously. "Do you think there is a guard that will not slumber if I simply ask?"

Yuuri thought maybe he would survive this if he could just pretend it was normal. A normal date, the two of them just normal, in the city.

Viktor squeezes his hand, suddenly.

"Don't worry," he says. "I've done this plenty of times, although never with company. How do you think I have seen any of these works?"

"Oh," Yuuri says. "You can't-- you can't go during the day?"

Viktor shakes his head. "The day is not my kingdom," he says. "By my nature, any time I am somewhere, it is night in that time."

"So does that mean there's a Day, too?" Yuuri asks. "If you're the night?"

Viktor nods. "Yes," he says. "But we don't see eye to eye."

Yuuri laughs, the feeling sudden. "I can't believe even _gods_ have inter-office drama," he says. "Fuck."

Viktor huffs a laugh of his own. "We're not gods. Not really. He certainly _thinks_ he's one, but we're not gods. More like--" He pauses for a moment, looking down, thoughtful. "More like princes. We have domains and power, but we are much older than gods and certainly less powerful, I think."

The round a corner, and Yuuri recognizes the back edge of the building that is the museum. There's an emergency exit door, the kind with no handles. Or it should be, but strangely, Viktor reaches forward and the door just opens, opens like a normal door. No alarms sound or lights flash, and Viktor grins, mischieviously.

He holds the door open, moving his arm to usher Yuuri inside.

"After you," he says.

Viktor opens the door and Yuuri looks into the darkness leading into the museum nervously.

Viktor smiles. "We won't get caught," he says. "I promise."

Yuuri nods, and steps inside.

The door glides closed silently behind them, like it was never opened in the first place. It's uncanny, the way it seals itself closed, the alarm uninterrupted, the lock not even clicking shut.

Yuuri blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness, when Viktor opens his hand and there's a small, glowing light centered in his palm.

"I borrowed a star," he says. "She's quite happy to tag along." Viktor opens his hand wide, and the light drips off his fingertips to weave lazily about Yuuri's head, providing just enough light that Yuuri can see .

"What do you want to show me?" he asks.

"What do you want to see?" Viktor responds.

Yuuri swallows, and Viktor takes his hand. Tugs him carefully down a corridor and suddenly into the gallery.

Yuuri gasps. It's different, at night.

It's empty. It's only him and Viktor, in the gallery. The space is wide and high and tall. Silent and still. Yuuri feels small.

And it's--

It's statuary. Sculpture. Figures carved from marble, suspended still in the darkness.

Hands, reaching out. Bodies.

Different, in the darkness. In the night. It's strange, how the abundance of shadow makes them almost seem more real; like they are waiting at any moment for some spell to be broken and for them to move and shift and breathe again.

Viktor's hand in steady in his. Warm.

"Wow," Yuuri says.

"Aren't they something?" Viktor answers.

There's a marble figure, somehow even more opaque and ghostly in the shadow, lit only by the star that circles Yuuri and the streetlight leaking in from a gallery window. A woman, a drape slung over her hips, her chest bare. Yuuri's fingers itch with the desire to touch, to see if it's real. There's something to how the stone seems fleshy, suddenly. Yuuri wonders, absently, how cool the body of stone must be.

Yuuri wonders if Viktor has ever reached out to touch them.

Yuuri wonders if Viktor gets lonesome.

"The sculptures are better than the paintings," Viktor says.

Yuuri nods, absently, before turning back to Viktor. "You can do this at any museum?" He asks.

Viktor nods.

"You can go anywhere?" Yuuri asks.

Viktor nods.

"Wow," Yuuri breathes.

Viktor is smiling, when Yuuri looks at him

"Want to get something to eat?" Yuuri asks.

**Author's Note:**

> ????


End file.
